Coniurati
by aadarshinah
Summary: They took him. #18 in the Ancient!John 'verse. McShep. Lorne/Zelenka. After "Inferno."
1. Pars Una

_Coniurati_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

There's a screaming in his head.

There's a screaming in his head that could wake the dead, which is very nearly what it does when it wakes Evan from a deep, heavy sleep. It's not just a headache, it's like there's a wild animal trying to claw it's way out of his head through both of his ears simultaneously, and it's all he can do to stumble his way into the en suite and down a couple (read: half-dozen) aspirin with a handful of water from the sink.

Evan doesn't know how long he lays on the floor of his bathroom, waiting for the pills to get to work, only the screaming gets _worse_ the longer he lays in the dark, and after a while he gives in and makes his way to the infirmary as best he can.

He hears the shouting there long before he reaches the door.

"No, I'm not going crazy," someone insists at full volume, and such is the pounding in his head that he doesn't realise the someone is McKay until he reaches the infirmary doors and can see the man carrying on, his arms flying widely and the entire medical night shift trying to contain him. "He's _gone_, and I need you to shoot me up with the nanoids I know you have from John's last blood sample if I'm ever going to figure out _what the hell_ happened to him!"

"Rodney," Doctor Beckett says unreasonably patiently, holding his hands out as if to show he's not going to suddenly stick anyone with anything, "if you'll just have a seat and let me get you something for your head, I'm sure we'll be able to come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation-"

"How many times do I have to explain it, Carson?" McKay continues, caterwauling, "One minute I was fast asleep, the next thing I know my quarters are filled with a bright white light and not only is John _gone_, but 'Lantis starts sounding exactly like she did when he flew that jumper into that hive ship last year, only _worse_ because Rory's joining in too."

"I'm sure if you try radioing him-"

"I've tried radioing him. I've run sensor sweeps for his life signs. I've checked the logs for both the Stargate and the jumpers."

"He could be on _Daedalus_-"

"I've already asked Hermiod. His scans have picked up exactly nothing. And before you say it, I've already tried emailing Atlantis, but all I get back is a long string of _he's gone_ and _they took him_, which is why I need you to do whatever voodoo you need to do to get the nanoids _out_ of John's blood samples and _into_ me, so I can figure out _who the hell took him_."

"I'm fairly certain that's nae how it works-"

"Then figure out how it works," McKay says passionately, throwing his hands up in the air and making for the door, "or I'll find someone who will." It's then he notices Evan. "Major-"

Evan holds his hand up to forestall any questions. "I've not seen Colonel Sheppard."

"I figured that, Major. Where's Zelenka?" he asks instead, looking around as if expecting to see Radek pop out of the shadows behind him.

God, he'd not realised that his crush had gotten so out of hand that _McKay _could pick up on it. "I don't know, sir."

"Huh," McKay says as if this is an interesting bit of news he'd liked to investigate further before shaking himself and continuing, "Well, wherever he is, find him and get him to-"

"Actually, I'm here to get something for a headache-"

"Like there's screaming in your head, but you can't make out the words?" At his pained nod, "Don't bother. The only thing that'll stop it is getting 'Lantis and Rory to calm down, and good luck on _that_ happening any time soon without John."

And, with that, McKay marches past him, a man on a mission, if a seemingly demented one at that.

Once he's gone, all the eyes in the room slide to Evan. With a gesture, Beckett dismisses all but two of them. "Come on, lad. Let's see what we can do for that headache of yours."

* * *

"I'm sorry, but what part of _they've taken him _do you have trouble understanding?" Rodney demands, not even bothering to keep his voice down. He doesn't care if the folks in the Control Room can hear ever word he's saying - hell, he wants them to hear. He wants every one of the worthless idiots to know, as if the weight of public censure alone will force Elizabeth to be reasonable for once in her life.

And, sure his voice is starting to get hoarse from all the yelling he's been doing since God only knows what hour of the morning, but it's better than giving in to the prickling feeling that's been welling behind his eyes for almost as long.

This is not how it's supposed to happen.

This is not how their story is supposed to end.

He has no idea how it _is_ supposed to end, but God knows it's not like this, with John being taken from their bed in the middle of the night with not so much as a _by your leave_. He would think he would at least merit _that_ much, no matter what opinion most Ancients seem to have of their Descendants.

Rodney sits down. It's only by luck there's a chair behind him.

He thinks he's going to be sick.

Elizabeth puts what is surely meant to be a consoling hand on his shoulder and he shrugs it off to let his head fall between his knees. 'Lantis' song in his head has shifted from one long, deafening scream to one long, deafening wail and in the spaces between the notes he can hear the blood rushing through his head at a hundred beats a minute, maybe more. Rodney is about ready to climb up the walls from it, and he can't even hear the _words_. How does John stand it?

Not that it matters, because John would never have to deal with 'Lantis in a strop again if Rodney can't get him back. Which means finding a way to hear the words Atlantis can't seem to calm herself long enough to put into a way he can understand as he is now. Which means becoming _pastor_, no matter how much the idea still kind of freaks him out on a deep, fundamental level. All those millions of tiny robots, crawling beneath his skin, digging into his brain; altering him on a fundamental, irrevocable level-

"Rodney," Elizabeth says placatingly, "even if what you say is true-"

"It is."

"-and John has been Ascended against his will, what do you expect us to be able to do about it?"

"This may be a radical concept, but how about _try to get him back_?" He lifts his head quickly, to better glare at her, but that _really_ makes him feel like he's going to be sick, so he lowers it again just as quickly.

"And how do you propose to do that, Rodney?"

"I dunno. But 'Lantis knows something-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Elizabeth says, her chair squeaking as she sits behind her desk. "Even if Atlantis knows something-"

"She does."

"-and even if becoming a _pastor_ like John is the only way to find out what-"

"It is."

"-we don't have the way or the means to do so, let alone the _time_ for you to undergo brain surgery before the Wraith hive ship gets here in two days."

"It's only one hive. John said that he could take out one hive in five minutes."

"But the Colonel's not here," Elizabeth reminds him. It's like a punch to the gut.

"All the more reason," he points out, lifting his head more slowly this time and seeing only half as many spots in front of his eyes, "that it needs to be done." The rest they can figure out as they go along.

Elizabeth takes a long, deep breath and lets it out again just as slowly. "Have you taken the time to consider that maybe John _didn't_ Ascend against his will?"

Rodney's on his feet and shouting, "_What_!" before he's aware of doing so.

"He did it once before."

"To save Atlantis!" he says shrilly. "You know how he feels about, about _everything_, Elizabeth - the Others, Ascension, the Exodus, all of it. He would never Ascend unless it was the only way he had to protect Atlantis."

"Maybe it was."

"That's ridiculous. It's only one hive ship." John had had to keep biting his lip to keep from laughing at how seriously everyone else was taking it, as if the idea of a single hive being any match for an Alteran city-ship with charged ZPMs at its disposal was the funniest thing he'd ever head.

"Just hear me out, Rodney. What if it wasn't about the Wraith?"

"What else could it be about?"

"He _did_ just tell the Taranins that he was one of their Ancestors."

"So what? He _is_ one of their Ancestors."

"_So_ the word's spreading. We've already been contacted by two of our trading partners wanting to know if it's true or not and it's only been _ten days _since the Taranins resettled on Pryderi. John figured that it would be six months before everyone in Pegasus knows what he was, but, at the rate things are going, I think we can safely say that's a conservative estimate. And given everything we know about the Ori..."

Her words would hang in the silence if Atlantis hadn't renewed her raging as if in answer to them.

"Elizabeth, this is _John_ we're talking about. You know he'd never go Ori."

"_He_ certainly seemed to think it was a possibility."

"Yes, well," he huffs, "John's physically incapable of thinking anything decent about himself."

Elizabeth gives him a _look, _the kind usually reserved for parents when their kids are finally coming around to the idea that Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy aren't real. "And if he thought that Ascending would be the best way to protect us, either from himself or from reprisals by the Others, don't you think he would do it?"

Rodney gapes, then gapes some more. It _does_ sound like something John would do, but- "But what about Atlantis? Why would she be saying _they took him_ if nobody did?"

"Denial is one of the stages of grief," she says, standing. For a God-awful moment it looks like she's going to _hug_ him, but she doesn't, if only barely. Instead she puts a hand on each of his shoulders and says all too earnestly, "If you want to take some time..."

He shrugs out of her hold. There's a part of him that still wants to shout, to force Elizabeth to see the sense in his words, but mostly he just feels deflated. Numb. Broken even. The prickling behind his eyes is starting to win out. "No, no, you're right. We've only got two days before the Wraith get here. I should..." Rodney waves at the door and is out of her office - and decidedly _not_ looking at anyone - before the words are even completely out of his mouth.

He thinks she calls his name, but he's already halfway across the Control Room and not turning around for anything.

* * *

"This is Lorne," Evan says, keeping one hand on _Aurora_'s bulkheads as he answers his radio.

The SGC can make all the noises they want about Atlantis being just another FOB, but the Expedition is really just a colony eked out of some really high-end real estate, and as such things like binnacle lists and days off tend not to really amount to much here. Before Colonel Sheppard went astrally AWOL, Evan was supposed to have the morning off, in view of the twenty-hour shifts he's been pulling trying to get _Aurora _and Atlantis and _Orion_ ready for the Wraith. Now he's technically supposed to be taking the day off, in view of his rather epic headache, but he's now acting military commander of Atlantis until such time as they find Sheppard or the IOA confirms his appointment. And, for all it seems like Evan does ninety percent of Sheppard's job for him, it turns out he really, really doesn't. Sure, he may be Lord High Steward of paperwork, but Sheppard, he keeps everything _going_ in a way he's never really had need to appreciate before. Part of it's because, well, there's a hive ship on the way and there's a lot more to _keep going_ than usual, but also because no one seems to think Sheppard's coming back from this one.

Evan knows. He's had three calls to that effect already this morning, and that's not even counting the ones where people had danced around the subject.

Doctor McKay's voice crackled over the comm. "Major, where are you?"

"Aboard _Aurora_."

"Is Zelenka with you?"

He decides to take this as an honest question, borne of the fact that Radek's the one tasked with overseeing the repairs to _Aurora_ while McKay himself works on _Orion, _rather than anything else. "He's with the teams patching the hull on-"

"Well, find him. We need to talk - the three of us. You know a good place to meet up on _Aurora?_"

"The captain's quarters should do the trick, sir."

"Good. I'll be there in ten," McKay says before the comm goes dead.

Evan leans back and lets his head sink into the pillow. "Looks like we're having company over, Rory," he tells the ship, patting her with the hand still on her bulkhead. The lights overhead turn up slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust to the change in light. "Guess we'll have to finish the story later."

_Aurora_'s song twitters mournfully in Evan's head.

"I know. I miss Sheppard too." He taps his earwig again. "Doctor Z?"

"I believe you are supposed to be resting, Major," Radek says immediately, struggling to be heard over the grinding of metal and the shouts of the work crews trying to patch - and, in many places, rebuild entirely - _Aurora_'s hull. It's ugly work, in every sense of the word, but it gives her character. (Not like _Orion_ - but that's a whole 'nother kettle of fish.)

"I'm not gonna ask how you know that," he grins at the ceiling. "Think the guys can spare you for a few minutes?"

"Possibly. Why? What trouble have you managed to get yourself into?"

"None at the moment, but McKay is on his way, so that's sure to change any second now."

"Why is-? No, on second thought, it is better if I do not know. Tell me where you are and I shall come and take him off your hands for you."

"You're a lifesaver, Doc."

"But not mindreader. Location please, Evan."

He pauses, trying to think of a way to say it without sounding off his rocker, then blazes on anyway because, well, a ten thousand year old Ancient warship thought they are married, so who was to say he isn't? "_Aurora_'s captain's quarters."

"I see," Radek says, clearly amused.

"Don't laugh. It's quieter."

"I am sorry, Evan, but I am having trouble hearing you over the shiplift - it is quite loud - and my English is not so good sometimes. Could you repeat that?"

"Yes, but inside it's all nice and quiet. Especially now that I've got Rory calmed down some."

"Now that," Radek insists, the sounds of the repair work starting to fade away, "I would have thought that would be impossible, considering the circumstances."

"To be honest, I don't think she fully understands what happened."

"I do not think any of us fully understand what happened."

"There's that," he agrees, "but Rory less so."

"Perhaps the quiet, as you say, will help McKay as well."

"Maybe," Evan says, although personally he doubts it. He'd not seen McKay in the infirmary this morning, looking not so much like the world was tumbling down around him but rather that it had simply ceased to exist and no one else had noticed. People don't just bounce back from something like that, if they ever do.

Radek sighs heavily over the comm, as if he'd heard everything not said. "That is my fear as well. _Držte chvíli ... Zde jsme_." The line goes dead at the same moment the cabin doors slide open. "Ah," he continues as the doors slide shut behind him. "Maybe you are right. If this is _quieter_, I do not wish to know what _louder_ is."

The light is still dim enough to hide Evan's blush as he pushes himself into a sitting position, leaning heavily on the headboard with his legs spread in front of him. "It's worth it, though."

Radek doesn't argue the point. He just sits down at the opposite end of the bed and starts telling him about all the progress the repair crews have made installing the new hull platting this morning until Doctor McKay arrives a few minutes later and announces without preamble, "It looks like we've got to get John back ourselves."

"What's the plan?"

* * *

The plan is this:

Amongst many of the other complaints that can be made for Carson's form of medicine, he is a vampire probably intent on bleeding them all dry before the Wraith have a chance to do it in a slightly less literal way. Which means that he invariably has blood samples for half the Expedition on hand at any give time. Add to that John's rather accident prone ways and there's almost a guarantee that Carson will have a fresh sample of his blood.

And John's blood contains nanoids. Not a lot - they mostly live in the brain and spinal fluid - but they use arteries and veins to get around, just like everything else in the body. They'd be lucky to get a couple dozen nanoids from a normal-sized blood sample, and it takes a couple million of the things rattling around inside a person to allow them to speak to Atlantis.

Because they've got to talk to Atlantis. Because she's got to know more about John's disappearance than just _they took him. _And they've got to find out who has him (Rodney refuses to believe that he Ascended of his own free will, whatever Elizabeth seems to think) before they can get him back.

But as long as they can get at least a few nanoids, Hermiod should be able to replicate as many as they'll need using Asgard technology.

("Of course he'll help. He's not going to let John disappear until he gets a chance for a rematch after their last chess game."

"Hermiod and the Colonel play chess?"

"It's part of their alien support group or something. I don't ask questions when it comes to those two.")

And once they have the nanoids, they have _Aurora_'s fully operational infirmary to preform the surgery.

("Rodney, in case you have forgotten, we are not that kind of doctors."

"But we've got two _custodiae _anda sickbay full of Ancient medical equipment, and all we really need to do is drill a hole in my head. People have been doing it for hundreds of years back on Earth without bothering with the useless degrees before hand.")

Then, once the nanoids are in place, he can find out just who took John, and they can figure out phase two from there.

Presuming everything goes according to plan.

* * *

"Just one problem, sir."

"Only one?" Radek snorts.

"What, Major?"

"You're not having the surgery. I am."

* * *

**a/n: **I decided retroactively that I liked ending "Messias" with part 3 and that this - and the other chappie of this, which I _promise_ will be the last - is the end of S2. And that I tried 15k itterations of this before realizing, quite abruptly, what my problem was and, well, after that this kinda just flowed. Though needless to say this is not the story I planned on writing, and that it changes _quite a lot_ for the future of the AJ 'verse. (Just saying.)  
In other news, _coniurati_ is _conspirators_ in Latin and takes it's name from the CJ Cherryh book of the same name, though has little to do with it in plot or otherwise. _Držte chvíli ... Zde jsme_ is Czech for _Hold a moment... Here we are_. Oh, and this takes place 2 days before the Wraith arrive on Atlantis, ie 22 May, 2006.


	2. Pars Dua

_Coniurati_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

_Pars Dua_

* * *

Rodney is sitting in the mess hall, head cradled between his arms, when he suddenly realizes he has no earthly idea how he got there.

_Lantean, _John would way. _No Lantean idea_.

Rodney suppresses the pitiful sound that's threatening in his throat and lets his forehead fall to the table. His fingers are freezing where the brush the back of his neck. He must be at the balcony tables - a foolhardy idea at best now that winter was coming to Atlantis, but John would always sit at one if he could help it... He has always secretly thought John does it so he can look out, see the sky, and remember exactly when he is, which is a problem sometimes when he's really tired and not thinking straight. He can't count all the times John's slipped into Ancient on him when they're in bed, all but asleep, and he's trying to steal back the blankets or extricate a sleeping limb. (Or the _other_ times when John's slipped into Ancient in bed, right before-)

God. Just, God. If he can't get John back...

He has to. He will.

He doesn't realize he not alone at the table until his dining companion speaks, saying in the stilted, formal way all aliens but John seem to have, "I would suggest drinking your beverage while it is still warm, Doctor McKay. I have consulted with your culinary specialists, who assure me that it contains the most stimulants a human can healthily consume at one time, but I imagine it tastes much better hot than cold."

Rodney lifts his head and blinks. "What are we doing in the mess hall, Hermiod?"

"You," the Asgard says calmly, pushing a mug of coffee his way, "are attempting to ingest a highly suspect amount of artificial stimulants while I sample the culinary offerings the humans of this galaxy have to offer."

Rodney blinks again as he watches the Asgard take a hard-boiled egg from the bowl in front of him and swallow it whole. It's not a chicken egg - chickens, oddly enough, don't seem to exist in the Pegasus galaxy - but rather the egg of some sort of domesticated quail, but it's still impressive. And moderately disturbing, considering the pale blue shell he'd failed to remove prior to consumption.

He takes a large mouthful of coffee before asking, "And _why_ are we doing this?"

"Because the medication that Doctor Beckett gave you for your headache when you went to relieve him of Iohannes Pastor's blood sample either was not the medication he claimed it to be or else you are experiencing one of its more unexpected side effects." Hermiod swallows another egg, shell and all. "You may also be curious to know that this is the twenty-third time I have answered this question for you and I am anxious for there not to be a twenty-fourth. Please, drink your beverage."

Rodney drinks his coffee.

"You may also be curious to know that your plan is, with the regrettable exception of your current state of disorientation, going according to schedule. At this point we are merely waiting for Major Lorne to wake, to see if the operation was successful. Doctor Zelenka will inform us as soon as it has."

"I see," he says, and continues drinking his coffee. It tastes like honest-to-God mud, but it's strong and he can feel his shattered thoughts starting to pick themselves up and dust themselves off, albeit reluctantly.

He remembers stirring, feeling John slip out of bed and thinking nothing of it - John makes a habit of getting up at absurd hours of the night that he even more absurdly insists on calling morning and running franking ridiculous lengths with Ronon. He remembers hearing Atlantis' song shift suddenly and wakening fully, just in time to see a pure, white light fill the room. The fear and panic that comes after he remembers all too well.

"You have also said that twenty-three times."

"And yet you're still here."

"And yet I am still here," Hermiod agrees, blinking slowly. "Egg?"

"Er, no thank you."

"I find myself quite enjoying these myself. They are not as efficient protein or choline delivery methods as Asgard nutritional supplements, but find myself enjoying them all the more for that very reason." He swallows another egg. "It is quite curious the things one discovers are important when one is dying."

Rodney continues drinking his coffee. He's starting to remember distracting Carson so Zelenka could make off with John's blood sample. He's even starting to recall the conversation he had with Hermiod to get him to help in the first place - and the conversation Zelenka had had with Lorne trying to talk him out of it, if one could call it a conversation at all. But he doesn't remember anything about Hermiod being on his deathbed and says as much.

"As you are well aware, Doctor McKay, my species is dying. It is unlikely we will live to see the end of this decade. Some Asgard persist with their futile search for a cure for the disorder we have coded into our very genes. Others obsess over preserving our legacy so that you, the Fifth Race, might preserve the future and, perhaps, learn from our mistakes. Myself, I am learning to appreciate the multitude of small things which I took for granted all the many years of my life. Three thousand years and thirteen clone bodies and I have never before taken the time to consume something for the mere pleasure of the act."

"Not once?"

"Not once," Hermiod repeats, blinking solemnly. "And I would not have thought have thought to do so even now if Iohannes Pastor had not suggested it."

"Eating?"

"To take time, as you would say, to smell the flowers."

His head starts spinning again at this. "_John_ said this?"

"Well," the Asgard concedes, "his actual words were _lightning flashes, sparks shower, in one blink of an eye you have missed seeing_, but I believe the meaning is similar."

"That doesn't sound like something John would say either." Any other Ancient? Yes. But John? No.

"We are all the products of our environments, Doctor McKay. Iohannes Pastor may not be a typical example, but he is still an Ancient."

Rodney frowns. He's fairly certain that Hermiod is trying to tell him something, but it's all he can do to keep up with the conversation, let alone read between alien lines at the moment. "What did Carson give me?"

Sounding highly put upon once more, "Sumatriptan."

"And the plan is working?"

"So far, yes."

Well, that's something at least, even if things aren't making complete sense yet. "I'm going to get more coffee, and then you're going to fill me in on all the things I apparently missed."

* * *

It starts like an ache near the top of his head, a slow building pressure that Evan might have mistaken for a budding migraine if he'd not been expecting just such a thing. It grows into a vague sense of unease - of voices just out of hearing, of ghosts just out the corner of his eyes - and a faint, panicky feeling of doubt and distrust.

And then the data starts flowing in, slowly at first but quickly building speed until he's drowning in all of it. Planetary weather reports, orbital tracking data, transporter logs, energy usage reports - any and every piece of datum a city the size of Atlantis generates every second rushing through his head too quickly to comprehend in any meaningful way. It floods his mind, all of his senses (though some part of Evan recognizes his breath is shallow and labored and entirely out of his control), until-

-until the dam breaks and there is nothing but blissful _peace _as he concentrates on evening out his breathing. Atlantis' song is still there and, for a moment, it's as if nothing has changed at all.

Evan thinks he can hear singing.

/_See there, past that far-off hill, a tower held in the sky,_/ a woman sings and, God, if her voice isn't the the most amazing thing Evan's ever heard. It's rich and refined and, if he'd any actual knowledge about music beyond what a few weeks as Atlantis' _custodia_ has taught him, he'd know the right words to describe it. But he doesn't, and all he can think is _amazing _and maybe _beautiful._

The singer stops singing. /Your turn,/ she says, and for a horrible second he thinks she means _him_, and then-

/_See there,_/ repeats another voice, sweeter and softer and just a little bit wild, /_past that far-off hill, a tow-er-_/

/Tower,/ the first corrects.

/Tower,/ the second says, struggling to string the syllables together, /_a tower held in the sky._/

/Very good, _Aurora_. Next line: _Hear there, in that dark blue night, the music calling us home._/

/_Hear there, in that dark blue_-/ The song suddenly stops and the music shifts, like cymbals crashing before shifting into something more ingenuous and atavistic. /_Ma-ter! Ma-ter! _He's a-wake! He's fi-nal-ly a-wake!/

Amused, /Remember what we said about _pastores_, _Aurora_?/ the first - Atlantis, Evan realizes - asks gently.

/That they are rare and del-i-cate and we must be care-ful not to break them,/ Rory says dully, like a student reciting a hard-learned lesson. Then, returning to full volume almost immediately. /But he is our _mar-i-tus_, _Ma-ter_! We have wait-ed and wait-ed and wait-ed for a _pas-tor_ of our very own, and now he is here and-/

/And we still must get your _pater_ back./

The music sinks. /We'll nev-er get him back, _Mat-er_. Peop-le al-ways leave us./

Evan gets the sense that Atlantis wants to agree, but refuses to do so openly, though whether for her sake or the ship's, he cannot say. /We will get him back, _Aurora_./

/People al-ways leave,/ she repeats, and Evan gets the sense she's slinking off somewhere to sulk on her own, even if the _where_ part doesn't make much sense.

/We apologize for _Aurora_. She is... very young./

"I don't mind."

/You should,/ Atlantis snorts before seeming to deflate, whatever good cheer she was keeping up for the spaceship that considered herself her daughter crumbling away. /Thank you for doing this for us./

"I wanted to." More than anything in the world, he's wanted to hear her voice since the moment he first heard her song - if not the very moment he first stepped into the city.

Softly now and openly melancholy, /We know. We just wish it had been under better circumstances/

There's a long silence. He has no clue what to say to break it.

/Find the _custodia _and the _praefecta_,/ 'Lantis sighs at long last. /You can act as our mouthpiece. We think we only have it in us to tell this story once./

"Okay," Evan says, and opens his eyes.

The sickbay is dark, illuminated only by the recessed lighting underneath the wall cabinets that line the room. He's still laying on his side on the main operating table in the centre of the room, in the deepest of the shadows, and his left hand would be hanging over the side if it wasn't clasped in Radek's as he dozes at his bedside.

For the first time in what feels like years, Evan smiles.

"Radek," he says.

There's no answer.

"Radek," he tries again, shaking their joined hands.

Still no answer.

Grinning now, Evan pushes himself up onto his elbow and pokes the other man on the shoulder. "Radek."

Radek's head snaps up and he almost falls out of his chair, he's so startled. "Evan," he says slowly, eyes somewhat glazed behind his glasses, "you're awake."

"So are you."

"Are you...? Did it...?" he continues with an odd tentativeness that worries Evan for the half-second it takes him to realized that, _shit,_ Radek must have been even more worried about this than he'd thought.

"I'm fine," Evan tells him, getting the overhead lights to come on slowly so he can see the truth for himself. "I'm fine and it worked."

"It worked?"

"It worked."

"Any... side effects?"

"Well, it's certainly strange." He's fairly certain that he could start rattling off any number of the data sets Atlantis and _Aurora_ are constantly generating, if only he reached out with his mind for them. And though Evan's now able to hear both AIs' voices, they, like with their music before, seem to be nicely tucked into the back of his mind when he's not in direct conversation with them - a noticeable presence, yes, but not a bothersome one. "I'm not even sure if she particularly _wants_ me-"

/We _want_ you,/ Atlantis interrupts suddenly, her voice slamming into the forefront of his mind, panicked and desperate. /We wanted you as _pastor_ from the moment you became _custodia. _Never think are our daughter's husband, our Iohannes' nephew, and love us like a true-born son: how could we _not_ want you? It is only the circumstances that we wish were different./

Evan hisses at the sudden onslaught, almost losing his balance, still propped up on his elbow as he is. "Strike the last," he breathes, moving to sit up properly-

-but Radek's hand is squeezing even as he asks, voice deceptively even, "Are you all right, Major?"

"I'm fine. 'Lantis just surprised me, that's all," he says almost distractedly, glancing down at their still-joined hands. And, when he looks up, Radek's gone as white as a sheet, and suddenly everything _clicks_ inside in his head in a way Evan's never been able to see before. "You were worried," he says slowly. "Not about the procedure, but about _me._"

Radek tries to pull his hand away; Evan doesn't let him. "You are my friend," he insists, coloring slightly. "A very close friend."

Evan's gaze drops back to their joined hands. "You're my best friend, Radek." There are a hundred reasons why this is a _bad idea_, but none of them seem to matter anymore because Radek is _worried_ about _him_ and if the procedure had gone wrong Evan _never would have known._ He would have gone all his life without something he wants so desperately because he was too afraid to take a chance that wouldn't have been a chance at all, because no one _worries_ like this for someone they only have heat-of-the-moment feelings for; no one feels _sucker punched_ like this at seeing someone else's worry unless they truly care for that person. The only _bad idea_ anymore is _not_ taking the chance. "Your friendship means everything to me, but I think we can have a lot more than that, if you'll have me."

He looks up at Radek's sharp breath. "_Myslel jsem_..." he's saying so softly that, close as they are, Evan has a hard time hearing him, "_Myslel jsem to bylo všechno v mé hlavě_," but that might be because he's too busy looking at Radek's eyes, which are Triomphe Blue and shining in the half-light and seem a little bit like coming home.

Then Evan tugs at their joined hands, just enough to get Radek closer, and uses his other hand to bring him closer still.

Then he kisses him, and it's better than Evan could ever have imagined.

* * *

**a/n: **I know, I know, I promised this would be a 2 parter, but this chappie was getting long and I've had a frak-it-all day and, well, need/want/require positive feedback to keep from going absolute insane.  
_Myslel jsem to bylo všechno v mé hlavě_ is Czech for _I thought it was all in my head_. And the song that 'Lantis is teaching Rory is Loreena McKennitt's "The Gates of Istanbul," which probably makes this a good time to mention that _her _music is usually what I picture in my head when talking about Atlantis' song. Well, either that or the BSG soundtrack. It depends on my mood.


	3. Pars Tria

_Coniurati_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

_Pars Tria_

* * *

"Should we hold a memorial service?"

Rodney's hands still on the keyboard.

(He's been doing his best to ignore the military minutiae of the staff meeting by sorting through the one thousand, two hundred and twelve emails that appeared in his inbox after the last dial-in to Earth. But after deleting the nearly three hundred pieces of spam that managed to slip through the SGC's filters, he'd been troubled to find that over half of what had remained related to John in some matter - formal requests for interviews from reporters who've picked up on all the times his name comes up in relation to John's solution to the Riemann Hypothesis; round-about requests for information from researchers back on Earth too cowed by the universe's last real, live Ancient to ask John themselves; friendly letters from his sister, requesting Rodney's help in some ongoing debate she's apparently been having with John about the exact value of certain variables in the Drake Equation. Not quite knowing what to make of this indisputable, irrefutable evidence of how much John has become a part of his life - or how much of a hole he's leaving behind, - Rodney'd set to work writing a better spam filter. Because obviously that's the answer to all his problems.

(Obviously.)

Rodney closes his laptop. The _snick_ of the catch is impossibly loud in the silence that's fallen in the room since Elizabeth asked her question.

"John's not dead."

"Rodney."

"You don't have memorials for people who aren't dead, Elizabeth."

"No, but Colonel Sheppard _has _Ascended to a higher plane of existence. There are people throughout the universe that have dedicated their lives to achieving just such a goal."

"So, what, you want us to _celebrate_ the fact that he's gone?" he scoffs, gripping the edge of the table 'til his knuckles go white to keep from jumping out of his seat and raging at her.

Patiently, "It's a great accomplishment, Rodney," she reminds him.

"But not one he wanted! You have to have heard, have to remember some of the things he's said about Ascension in the past. That it's the coward's way of escaping his problems. So what if it's something of great cosmic significance? I don't really give a flying fuck if it really _is_ the be all, end all of mortal existence, John's coming back and we're not going to pretend otherwise."

"I know you're grieving-"

"I am not grieving!" he shouts, hands flying into the air. "I am not grieving because there is _nothing to grieve. _Why does no one else seem to understand that?"

Zelenka reaches over and places a hand on his shoulder, which is a strange enough occurrence that it stops the rest of his rant dead in its tracks. "Rodney," he says quietly and with genuine concern, "losing your temper is not going to help the Colonel any."

"Yes. Yes, you're right," Rodney sighs, sinking back into his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. His head is still spinning a little from the meds Carson gave him and this, of all things, is not something he needs right now. "Major," he waves vaguely with his other hand, "can you just...?"

He feels more than sees Elizabeth's eyes dart between them, taking all of ten seconds to piece the puzzle together. Settling them accusingly on Rodney, she asks, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Oh, please. You know exactly what I was thinking, and if you were thinking clearly you'd realize it was the right thing to do too."

Blazon in her attempt to keep the peace, "I'm sorry," Teyla interrupts before any actual shouting can start, "but what is this?"

"Doctor McKay wanted to become a _pastor_, in the hope that Atlantis would be willing to tell him what she knows about Colonel Sheppard's disappearance. But," Elizabeth stresses, "I know he cannot have possibly been foolish enough to do so, not when we know nothing about how the nanoids would effect a human being, to say nothing of the unabashed stupidity of having our chief scientist undergo elective brain surgery less than fifty-six hours before the Wraith are supposed to arrive."

"That's exactly what I told Doctor McKay," Lorne says, straightening in his chair, "which is why I'm the one who had the surgery."

It's hard to tell who's more shocked, Caldwell or Elizabeth. While Lorne's not exactly the poster boy for _by the book_, he's probably the most stable, level-headed officer Atlantis has. He looks before he leaps, fills out his paperwork on time, and, above all, does not do things without the support of his superior officers. For him to do this is, well, almost as unthinkable to them as John's willing Ascension is to him - but they don't know about their plan to stop Michael that they never got to carry through or the dozens of other plots that Zelenka's bound to have gotten him caught up in.

Caldwell speaks first. "Major, what could have possessed you to do something so reckless?"

"Someone needed to take the risk, Sir, and between Doctor McKay and myself, I'm the one who's more easily replaceable."

"As much as we all want to find Colonel Sheppard-"

"I'm sorry, Sir," Lorne interrupts, which seems to surprise Caldwell even more than the idea the Major would go behind their backs to become a _pastor,_ "but you don't understand. I'm not even sure if I _can_ explain it, but it's..." He visibly searches for the words he needs, glancing at the ceiling for the city's help. "Colonel Sheppard has been one of Atlantis' _pastores_ for ten thousand, two hundred and thirty-four years. For most of that time, he was the only living soul in the city. I don't know if there are words for what she feels for him. She- She raised him and taught him and- and the Colonel is _everything_ to her. If you could have heard her earlier... Even now, I think the only thing that's keeping her from shutting down entirely is the hope that we might be able to get the Colonel back."

Rodney shudders in agreement. "The last thing we want when the Wraith show up at our doorstep is a city that won't respond to any of our commands."

Elizabeth bites her lip. "Why didn't you tell me any of your suspicions earlier?"

"Honestly?" He rubs his temples now. "I thought I just projecting. Plus, I kind of assumed the whole _John's been kidnapped _thing would be the only bullet point you needed. But, more importantly, has 'Lantis told you who's taken him yet?"

"Yes..." Lorne says distantly, propping his elbows on the table. "It was an Ascended Ancient, someone the Colonel knew from before he went into stasis. Her name is Ganos Lal Cancellaria, but Atlantis is pretty sure she was known on Earth as Morgan le Fey."

* * *

The exhaustion hits him the moment Evan enters his quarters, like a brick wall just inside the threshold. It sends him reeling - or at least backwards, so that he hits the barely closed doors with a dull thump. He stays there, leaning against them with the lights off and his eyes closed, until he gathers enough energy to push away from the doors and start unzipping his uniform jacket.

God, what a week.

He likes to think he could have handled the Colonel's disappearance normally. After all, he _is_ a major in his own right. He knows how to run a base. It might've been like trying to tread water during a category five hurricane, but he probably could've done it.

But these are far from normal circumstances.

The Wraith know Atlantis still stands. The hive Michael found has seen it with their own eyes. They've _walked her halls_ unmolested, all in the name of some sort of ceasefire Doctor Weir has drawn up in exchange for the retrovirus. It's a deal with the devil, but one far above Evan's pay grade, even if he is acting military commander. All he knows is that it's his duty to keep the Wraith from getting loose and wreaking havoc on the the city that detests their presence so violently she'd kill them herself if she could manage it.

At least they're gone now, the Wraith that is. They're off testing the latest iteration of their aerosol dispersion bomb with Doctor McKay and _Daedalus_ and, unless something goes very wrong, they're not going to be back for a long while. Which means Evan can turn his full attention to the frantic daily struggle to keep atop the thousand things the Colonel somehow manages to do every single day without appearing to do anything at all and maybe get some rest while he's at it.

Evan barely manages to shrug off his jacket and toss it to one side before he's back to leaning against the doors, and only a moment after that before he's sliding down them to sit on the floor with his back against them.

God, he's so tired.

He's not sure how long he sits there or how many times this thought runs through his head before _Aurora_ asks, /Are you a-ttemp-ting to sleep or med-i-tate, _pas-tor_?/

"Neither."

/Oh./ There's a pause. /What _are_ you do-ing?/

"Thinking."

/Oh./ Another pause. /What are you think-ing a-bout?/

"Everything."

Rory appears to frown at this. /Why would you want to do that?/

"Sometimes you don't have a choice," Evan tells her.

Take now for instance. Right now, Evan's not had more than ten hours of sleep in the last eight days and should be conked out on the bed, dead to the world until the next crisis comes calling, but he can't. His thoughts keep running in circles uselessly, going absolutely nowhere and telling him absolutely nothing that he doesn't already know - like the fact that Colonel's been gone for over a week and they still have absolutely no idea how to get him back, but, when they do, the Colonel's going to kill Evan for letting the Wraith into the city, even if it was Doctor Weir's idea.

/Some-times,/ Rory says shyly, /when we ac-cess our da-ta-base, we get cor-rup-ted files and ac-cess mem-or-ies we nev-er want-ed to re-mem-ber. It is aw-ful. We get so scared. We were in so many bat-tles... And then we were so a-lone.../

_Rory_ _really is a just a little girl_, Evan thinks. "You're not alone anymore. You're not ever going to be alone again."

She makes a sound that might be considered a hiccup. "You say that now, but ev-ery-bo-dy al-ways leaves./

"I-"

"_Ma-ter_ says not to blame you - that it is not your fault that your plat-forms do not last as long as ours - and we try not to, but it is so hard when we are so alone. _Ma-ter_ says that, when she was still in Av-a-lon, she used to have two score _cust-od-i-ae_ and a half doz-en _pas-tor-es_ at a time to keep her comp-any, but we have only known you and _Pa-ter._ And when you are gone we will be alone again./

"You won't-" Evan begins, patting the door absentmindedly before remembering it's the wrong AI.

/Don't lie to us, _Mar-i-tus. _We are not a child. We know how the un-i-verse works. But do not wor-ry. We will pro-tect you as best we can, as we should have pro-tect-ed _Pa-ter,_/ she says vehemently.

Before Evan can ask her what she means, his comm goes off.

It's Radek. "We've been hacked," he says without preamble.

"What?" Evan demands, climbing to his feet and looking for wherever the hell his jacket has gotten to in the suddenly well-lit room.

"Within the hive ship's schematics was a worm-like computer virus."

"But I thought-"

"We did. The data appeared clean, but only because this virus was not designed to do anything we had anticipated."

"What's it doing then?"

"It very carefully probed our systems for a small, specific set of information before destroying all the data the Wraith sent down."

Evan finds his jacket and tugs it back on. "What they get?" he asks, heading out the door.

"The location of every world in our database."

Earth. "God damn it!"

"My thoughts exactly."

"Did you-?"

"Tell Elizabeth? No, not yet. I am on my way to her office right now."

* * *

Ronon wants to blow up the hive ship.

Normally, Rodney would be dead set against this, given that they happen to be _on _the ship in question, but there's no way they're getting out of it alive. They've looked. They've tried. It's just not happening, and while Rodney's usually very staunchly anti-death, it's not like they have any other choice.

Even if the ship they're on is currently under attack by unknown forces.

"Have you _done_ it yet?" Ronon grumbles at him as he keeps watch at the door, apparently still under the delusion that science is magic and all anyone has to do to pull a miracle out of his ass is babble a couple techno-sounding words and snap.

"Look, pal, this ship has been seriously damaged. It's hard for me to _find_ something to overload."

That's when he hears the click of a boot coming from the opposite side of the hall.

Ronon must hear it too, because he spins around and readies the last of his knives for throwing the moment the figure steps into the light.

He sees only the barest flicker of a tall, cloaked silhouette as it passes beneath one of the sickly yellow overheads before the knife goes flying. It passes through the figure easily and clatters sharply to the floor behind it.

"Nice aim," the figure says, not so much as twitching as it draws nearer. "But can we avoid the friendly fire in the future?" it pushes back the hood of it's cloak, revealing a pair of glowing white eyes. "I'm not planning on staying intangible forever."

All the moisture suddenly disappears from Rodney's mouth and he has to swallow several times to even be able to choke out the word, but he manages it eventually. "John?"

"In the flesh," John says, lifting his arms out wide and letting the cloak fall back. "Well, more or less, anyway."

* * *

**a/n: **It's taken me over a year, but I'm finally finished with S2 of the AJ 'verse - though, sadly, all but about 500 words of this has been sitting on my computer for like a week as I tried to finish it... but with the last section we're into S3... and, with luck, I'll be able to get as far as "The Return, Part 1" before I have to ship out in February. Though SPN is proving to be very distracting in this endevour.  
Anyway, I also hope to - finally - finish the coffeeshop!AU I started last christmas, as I've promised myself I'd do after I finished S2. Hopefully you'll find the wait for both these parts worth it. And, I promise, S3 will come just as soon as I can manage to write it.


End file.
